


Hunters

by Cyrelia_J



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [7]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Dark, Drama, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: (Previously title "The Hunted" changed now that a second chapter has been added)Chapter 1, The Hunted: A twisted Tumblr prompt fill: garashir inspired by Sir Sly's "Gold"Everyone knows to fear the Hunters. Miles O’Brien is no different. They and their servants have massacred most of Earth's population, still hungry for more death. So why is there an unarmed man travelling alone in the English countryside?“Are you Elim Garak?”“Not as I can tell. The two of you supposed to hook up here?”“I don’t know... that is em... I don't quite remember. I've forgotten a few things...”background garashirChapter 2, The Hunter: Julian Bashir has been traveling alone since the Hunters came; it’s safer that way. The old train tunnels are piled with the bodies of the dead, but they’re the safest places to hide. And then Julian meets Garak.“I’m sorry,” Julian says softly, breathing slowly and deeply. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here. It’s just me so I’ll go if it’s alright with you.”“Go?” The voice asks curious... “...Now that would be a pity...”





	1. The Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> If you've never seen the video for this song I highly encourage it. It's a good mind trip :)
> 
> Also the lesson here, never give me a prompt because you're probably gonna be like "WTF is this?" lol Please let me know if there are any tags I missed. I didn't want to totally give anything away but I don't want people too be really unpleasantly surprised by anything either.

       “Are you Elim Garak?” The man asks the question as the two of them stand stopped at the overgrown roadside. He’s tall, slim, almost frail looking with a head of dark curly hair cut short, and hazel eyes that look out from dark circles. The man that he’s speaking to is older. His face is ruddy and pinched, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he regards the other. He’s heavier, the frayed flannel shirt layered over a dusty T shirt that says “Zombie”. The slender man has a few days’ stubble. It’s clear the older man with the light brown hair hasn’t shaved in weeks. He regards the slender young man with suspicion.

        “Not as I can tell. The two of you supposed to hook up here?” He speaks with a Dublin accent.

        “I don’t know... that is em... I don't quite remember. I've forgotten a few things...” the slender man answers. He’s looking out into the field past the tilted stone wall and chicken wire along the top. There aren’t any sheep in the field any longer.

        “S’not a good time for a fella to forget himself. Dangerous, you know?” The older man looks around furtively. The sun is starting to hang low on the horizon and he shifts from one foot to the other. He’s carrying a backpack and the barrel of an old rifle is visible behind it. The slender man is silent a moment then blinks at the statement.

        “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” The slender man speaks more deliberately and his accent is more Southern English. He’s wearing a Smiths T shirt and jeans. His hands are tucked into the pockets, the bottoms hanging over red Converse that appear quite clean in comparison to the older Irishman’s brown work boots.

        “Family vacation,” the older man answers more tersely “Haven’t made it back home yet.” It’s suspicious to see a lone figure carrying nothing with them.

 

The Hunters are everywhere.

 

        “Right,” the slender Englishman says, looking past him discreetly. “Do you think I might walk with you a bit? I think I saw an old cottage off that way and well, you can see I’m not really in a position to defend it.” He gives a shrug, an apologetic smile. The Irishman barely relaxes.

        “What about this Garak fella? He comin’ ‘round any time soon?”

        “If he’s late, that’s his loss I suppose,” the slender man says with a small quirk of his mouth. “You know it’s not safe to wait around out here and I’d miss him terribly but ah… he can take care of himself.”

        “I don’t have nothin’ here ‘cept this old huntin’ rifle.”

        “I don’t have anything either. Just my company if you don’t mind a spot of chatter. I’m afraid I don’t always know when to keep quiet.”

        The older man laughs at that.

        “Maybe once upon a time I’d be cheesed off by a fella not knowin’ when to shut his gob but… S’pose it don’t matter so much now. Keep a little in front of me though, will ya? Yer leadin’ the way and all besides…” He steps back carefully into the road as the man walks slowly past him. Neither of them have a concern for vehicles. The cars attract too much attention to use. The slender man pauses as an afterthought and holds out a hand.

        “I’m Julian, by the way. Julian Bashir.” When he says that the other man rubs at his eyes and the tension goes out of his shoulders considerably.

        “Julian Bashir… Christ, I know you! Took second place in the Nationals that last year before…” He pauses here, that brief moment of respite. “Yah, ‘fore the world went to Hell.”

        “Would’ve been first if I hadn’t hit the wall,” Julian answers with a grin.

        “Yeah, literally, mate, bit of a tough break there. Dunno how you even pulled that off.” He shakes Julian’s hand firmly. “Miles O’Brien. Honored. I used to play a little myself. Maybe coulda given you a run fer yer money too in my day.”

        “Well, the honor’s mine, I promise,” Julian says as he starts walking. “I haven’t seen another soul in I don’t know how many weeks. I was starting to worry that I was the last man on Earth.”

        “You and the Spoonies,” Miles answers falling into step beside him.

        He doesn’t see Julian’s step nearly miss at that.

        “The Hunters," he corrects. "They’ve done a thorough harvesting. Wales is a dead zone. I know. I was there. It's nothing but the landscape and the birds now.”

        “Christ..." Miles mutters crossing himself. "Harvesting, eh? Sounds like something _they'd_ call it. Still, makes ya wonder what they’re even saving this shit for.”

        “Hunting. I mean, a hunter doesn't burn the forest after he's finished with the deer. You should know that if you're a hunter yourself,” Julian murmurs finding a break in the stone wall and stepping through it. “The house is this way. I don’t think anyone else would have found it since I passed it earlier. It was pretty well hidden from the road. I… don’t mean to pry but are you alone or is your family-”

        “Gone,” comes the strangled reply. “Gone quick,” Miles continues with a whisper. “Keiko, Molly, Yoshi… You?” He picks up his pace after answering that question, as if now just becoming aware of how exposed they are in the open field.

        Julian matches his paces but doesn’t seem particularly hurried.

        “My mother and father. It wasn’t quick for my father.” There’s another small quirk of his mouth at that one. “It shouldn’t be much further- just on past the tree here.” He walks closer and looks at it a moment. “Right, this is it then.” He turns his head, hands back in his pockets. “It’s a left here back a ways.”

        “Sure we’ll make it ‘fore dark? Ya know their eyes in the dark… like bloody pit vipers.”

        “Pit vipers is it? What would a Dubliner know about snakes? I thought they were all supposedly driven out,” Julian teases.

        “Apparently not all of them,” Miles mutters. “Hear they can smell ya too. I try and keep clean, try and mask it with dirt otherwise. Don’t eat anything too fragrant. You ever see one of those fuckin’ lizard monsters they got?”

        “Riding hounds,” Julian corrects again as they walk deeper into the forest.

        “Jeez, we're not in school, eh? I don't think the Spoonies'll shed a tear over a few names. Hounds is it? Not like any hound I ever seen and my da’ kept plenty fer huntin’. Ya sure we’re goin’ the right way?” Miles asks as the thick tree covering casts darkness over them both. Julian shrugs unconcerned.

        “There’s a tributary running around up ahead. We can burn the bridge after we cross it.”

        “Sorry mate, ‘fraid I don’t have a light. ‘sides, the fire might attract ‘em this way dontcha think?” Julian reaches into his pocket and takes out a lighter in response.

        “For my cigarettes,” he explains with another shrug, not answering the question. “I know it’s an awful habit and there’s not really anywhere to find them anymore. I like to be prepared when I can though.” Miles snorts.

        “Christ you patio people and yer fags. Nothin’ on ya but yer fags and a lighter. My da’ used to smoke the damn things too. S’probably what killed ‘im.”

        Julian doesn’t immediately answer him, searching around, finally pausing and raising a finger.

        “Right, there it is.” He indicates a bridge far off in the distance though Miles doesn’t seem to be able to see it. Still, he expresses relief as Julian leads him closer to the fast rush of water and the old wooden bridge over it. “But I suppose you’re right. The fire _would_ attract them, wouldn’t it?” he murmurs softly, looking back out into the darkness across the water.

        “Jeez, ya think? It’s a wonder they haven’t got ya before now. Gotta figure this Garak fella must be lookin’ out right good for ya. Helluva thing if ya can't even remember what he looks like. Bloody Spoonies… You ever seen one up close? Nasty looking buggers, they-”

        “There it is,” Julian interrupts him, gesturing again through the dark woods. “It’s been overrun with ivy but I think that’s for the best. It makes it more difficult to find.”

        Julian takes the lead, Miles carefully walking behind him. He walks faster through the brush, the path long overgrown and Miles curses as the ground grows uneven and he nearly trips.

        “Oi, look, I know we gotta take cover ‘for long but I’d rather not break a leg in the process.” He’s breathing heavier from the extra weight of hit kit. Julian stops so that he can catch up but he doesn’t turn around.

        “Ah, sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Right, break a leg that’d make it pretty hard to run, wouldn’t it?” he says with a soft nervous laugh.

        “We can’t all be Tennis champs, ya know,” Miles says clapping a hand on Julian’s shoulder.

        “No… we can’t all be… there it is now, do you see the path?” Julian follows a few more steps, brushing Miles' hand off him.

        “Can’t say that I…” He trails off as Julian stops in front of what appears to be a massive ivy wall. “Well I’ll be damned.”

        Julian pushes the door open and for a moment the pitch back of the inside makes the dark woods look almost bright by comparison.

        “What’d I tell you? Watch your step.” Miles follows him quickly.

        “Think ya might make use of that lighter, mate?” he asks as he shuts the door behind them. “Not all of us are bloody English owls here." He feels for locks and slides a bolt when he finds it. "S'funny. Used to think the bombings were the worst thing I ever lived through.” Miles sets the backpack down by feel as well, hand lingering on the rifle a moment before he takes it up. “Never thought it’d come a day when I’d miss The bloody Troubles.” His hands have a faint tremor to them. “Shoulda been in Monaghan in ’74. Now _there_ was a…” He stops at the sound of footsteps.

        “Shit,” he swears under his breath as he raises the weapon. “Julian get back,” he whispers urgently, reaching out in front of him. Miles' hand on Julian’s shoulder turns him around suddenly in surprise.

 

It’s then that he realizes Julian’s eyes are glowing green in the darkness of the room.

 

       "Miles? Is something-"

        “Oh God… yer with them,” he chokes out. Miles hesitates just a moment when Julian blinks with those glowing eyes. The gun is snatched from his shaking grip and thrown back into the house, firing off with a loud _bang_ and a flash of light.

        "Sorry, I forgot you wanted a light. I may have fibbed a bit though, I don't have any cigarettes..." Miles takes a step back going for the door, blinded when Julian flicks the lighter on. There’s a figure behind him. The door won’t open. The shadows bounce off the cruel ridges if its face as that scant light illuminates the Hunter. Miles nearly trips over his bag as he steps sideways. The Hunter smiles at Julian wickedly before seizing his mouth in a long kiss, a stream of red swapped between the both of them.

        “God, that’s bloody brilliant,” Julian gasps as the Hunter takes the lighter, letting it go out. "I brought you a little something if that's alright." There’s a crash as Miles blindly stumbles towards the direction where the gun was thrown. The Hunter takes Julian’s hand in the darkness.

        “Such a thoughtful gift, my dear,” it purrs against his mouth. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”


	2. The Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Julian met Garak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated doing a sequel/prequel for awhile since people wanted to see more. I had this meeting in mind for awhile now and finally got around to writing it out. This got way twisted and yet people are still asking for more so, here we go!

The smell of decomposition calms him. When he breathes in deeply and that thick sour smell, that rotting meat in the humidity fills his nostrils, it makes makes him smile. His father always has something to say about Julian having a better sniffer than most- used to always tell his friends they called him “nostrilla” as a baby because of the way his nostrils flared out when he’d cry as a child. Whether or not that’s true, he’s better than most at catching the scent of decay on the winds and following it. It’s what’s kept him safe since the darkness came.

The Hunters have no use for those already dead.

So Julian follows the scent of the bodies. He remembers watching The Walking Dead, seeing the characters cover themselves in the blood and remains of the dead bodies for disguise. The Hunters aren’t so easily fooled but their beasts are. His duffel bag has been long stained over, and contains only food, a cigarette lighter, and a tennis racquet. It’s a silly affection, but sometimes he likes to take it out at night and gives a few practice swings to the air, eyes closed, like he’s back on the court. He wonders how he’d have placed this year if things hadn’t gone to shit.

Julian has been traveling alone, having learned quickly that the living only attract death. He’s been making his way by tunnels, slowly, carefully, trying to get back to London. He isn’t the only one; so many fled to the old tunnels, the old coal mines especially, trying to escape the Hunters, trying to hide. All the old places reek of death now, some piled half a man high with bodies, chunks of flesh ripped out, bones regurgitated back coated in the digestive fluids of the monsters. It didn’t take them long to realize that the Hunters weren’t seeking to eradicate them for its own sake.

They were hungry.

The Summerhill tunnel is nearing collapse. He remembers Maggie, the lovely woman at the front desk who he could actually understand, telling him if he was of a mind to be adventurous he’d best avoid the temptation. Julian had looked, just a glance, watching the walls caving in, before going for a nice hike elsewhere. The Summerhill tunnel is where he is now. He’s waited long enough that he doesn’t hear or see another living soul. He’s had to make his way past more bodies to do it, but his feet land on the ground steadily and he stands with a smile. He’s sure the smell could turn away the hearties of stomachs. It’s particularly nasty and he can hear the flies _buzz buzz_ behind him as he reaches into his pocket for his lighter.

“Don’t.” he hears right before he flicks it, and Julian drops it with a start. His hearing, he’s been told, is better than most, and he hadn’t heard anything. He also hadn’t expected anyone else to be in here. People are bad, and not just because of the Hunters. People are bad enough in their own right, hunters enough without the monsters’ influence.

“I’m sorry,” Julian says softly, breathing slowly and deeply. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here. It’s just me so I’ll go if it’s alright with you.”

“Go?” The voice asks curious. Julian thinks it’s male but he can’t tell. He’s also not certain of the accent either. He’s sure it would be rude to ask, not like his father who takes every excuse to bang on about “those Paki fellows” completely un-ironically given their own ancestry.

“Now that would be a pity,” the man continues, the hairs on Julian’s arm standing up as he does. “I don’t believe I’ve had the company of such a lovely young man in awhile.” God, he’s mad as a bag of frogs then, wherever he’s from. _Figures, Julian, the only other person you can understand since your holiday started and he’s wait… can he see you?_

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company. Not much to look at either, twigs and pipe cleaners. I’m sure you can smell me too,” he says carefully _._ “Really, it’s safer by yourself. Trust me on that one. You’re better off if I go.”

“I assure you my dear, you smell delightful.” _Crazy. Crazy, get out, Julian._

“Right, and what a brilliant nose you’ve got, grandma. Better to smell me with and all that.”

“I don’t have a nose,” the man replies sounding amused. Julian picks his lighter back up by feel and puts it into his pocket.

“That’s why you didn’t want me to see you,” he offers taking a step forward in the darkness. It doesn’t matter how well his eyes adjust, there’s nothing but black ahead.

“It’s better this way,” comes the soft response and there’s something about its’ sibilance that makes Julian shiver.

“Alright, that’s fine. Better not to waste it, but I don’t really have food to share. Been going it alone to London and if you’re hurt I don’t have anything except some BenGay and some ace bandage.”

“Oh you have my assurance I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone actually and this seemed an optimal location, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s a good spot to keep away from the Hunters,” Julian agrees relaxing a little as he sinks to his knees and starts a slow crawl further in. He’s been careful in uncertain terrain not to risk damaging his legs. They’re his most valuable asset.

“Is it really?” the man asks sounding surprised.

“Yeah. They don’t like that death smell. I don’t think they like their food already dead. They’re not carrion feeders. They like it fresh, scared. Think I read some old vampire trope saying scared blood tastes better or something. It also confuses their animals. They’re trained to smell certain pheromones, sweat or something. At least that’s my theory.“ Julian laughs softly and takes an absent swipe of his blood stained thumb to his mouth. “Can’t find you if you smell like everything else. I’ve had to lay amongst the bodies a few times. S’not too bad, though is it stupid to say I’m still afraid I’m going to like… wake up and realize it’s the zombie apocalypse instead or something and those bodies will start moving?”

“My, such an imaginative young man.”

“Not much else to do at the end of the world.” Julian crawls forward a few more feet, sure he’s climbing over another few corpses as he does. He can feel the bones, feel the soft bits of flesh sticking to his fingers. He finds it strange that it’s not as soft as the ones further rotted. He’s about to ask if the man minds him getting much closer, but then he remembers no nose, so likely his smell won’t offend. The man said he smelled delightful? Must’ve been a weird sort of joke.

“Is it really the end of the world?” the man asks.

“Well I don’t know what else you’d call it. Don’t tell me that you don’t have any eyes either,” Julian huffs.

“Ah yes, the extinction level event known as the Hunters,” the man agrees. “But would you really cache the extinction of a single destructive species the ‘end of the world’? I should think the world will continue on without much intervention.”

“Great, you’re one of _those_ ,” Julian huffs again, this time with a deep sigh. “What are you, Tom Bombadil?”

“Who?”

“Nothing, don’t mind me just… for those of us who _care_ about our fellow man it’s a nightmare out there. Let me guess? You and this fellow you’re waiting for are gonna hole up in here and watch the world burn writing some self congratulatory manifesto.”

“Perhaps,” the man agrees sounding amused.

“Lovely,” Julian drawls. “Well, Mr. Nietzsche, do you have a name?” Julian stops when his pant leg snags on something sharp. Cuts are bad. Cuts breed infection, and he isn’t going to die of an infection. He sits down, with the lightest touch and starts to work at it.

“I do.”

“I’m Julian. Julian Bashir.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Not if you don’t follow tennis. S’funny though. People know me. More people than I realized. You would think that it’s strange, trusting a total stranger at a time like this. I don’t know if it’s some weird imprinting thing from seeing me on the telly all the time or what, but I’ve been fortunate. People see me and they don’t think I’m dangerous, not threatening. Just like… that friendly looking chap who lost to Federer in ‘16.”

“Trust is a valuable gift,” the man agrees, Julian shaking his head as he continues to work at the snag. It’s odd because it almost seems that something sharp dropped down from the ceiling to pin the denim to the stone.

“I’m not getting a name then, am I?” Julian asks stopping a moment before he gets frustrated. He can’t seem to pull it out.

If he didn’t know better he’s say it was a sharp end like the stinger of a scorpion’s tale.

“You can call me Garak,” the man answers. Julian thinks he’s lying.  “That will make it easier for us to pass the time while I wait for my friend.” Julian looks up instinctively, though he isn’t sure why. He still can’t see, and out of respect he won’t use the lighter. The man hasn’t threatened him. He still feels that spike driving through his pant leg and he resolves to pull at the fabric and allow it to tear. Pity, those True Religion jeans aren’t cheap.

“I don’t want to  be pessimistic, but if your friend isn’t here by now, I don’t think he’s coming.” Julian absently sucks a finger in his mouth this time. He isn’t sure when he started that habit. Out of nerves from this whole ordeal likely, but the saltiness is nice. Lord, he hopes he doesn’t get some sort of brain infection.

“You think so?” Garak’s voice is louder now. Julian is satisfied as his leg is freed, and he starts moving forward again. He starts to hear respirations loudly, like a furnace without a light. There’s more sibilance and he doesn’t understand what that means. He feels a few rocks under his hand, and he’s about to press on when Garak’s voice stops him. “That’s close enough if you please.”

“I’m not gonna bite you,” Julian says. “I mean whatever you might look like… ah… alright, I understand. You know, it’s funny. You see all these doomsday end of the world things and everyone comes together like _Independence Day_ or _Armageddon_ and everyone cries while a rock ballad plays. But really it’s more like…. Every man for himself. It’s all shit and everyone is shit.”

There’s no answer to that, and Julian continues.

“You know, the other morning I was out too close to dark. It was the closest I’d even been to an attack. It was a family. It was awful. I hid in an alley behind a dumpster. And you know, there was another man catty corner in the same alleyway with a hand up to his mouth to keep from screaming. We both stood there, crouched down, listening to them being eaten. And do you know what I was thinking?”

“Tell me, Julian,” Garak says, sounded enraptured.

“I was thinking… just… just for a mad second if it might not be best if the man were to be killed in case he gave us away. And… and then when the screams stopped and it got real quiet, and I could hear them _feeding,_ I wondered if I shouldn’t use him as a decoy instead.”  

Julian swallows, pulling his knees up to his chest, turning, leaning back a bit finding something warm and solid when he does. Ah, perhaps he was closer to Garak then he thought then.

“You see I’m… I’m fast, so fast I might have been an Olympic sprinter if I hadn’t loved tennis so much. See, when you’re out there… outside, you don’t need to outrun the Hunters. You only need to outrun everyone else. That man… He was a sad middle aged fellow. He’d never make it… and he wouldn’t be the first man that I’ve outrun.” He’s outrun them all. He’s left them all to die as they screamed for help. Run and never turn back. He’s seen what happens to the ones that turn back.

 _“Yesss,”_ he hears from so close to his ear that he closes his eyes even in the darkness. _“You do have those long, beautiful legsss.”_ Julian is about to ask if Garak _has_ seen him on TV then, when he feels a brush to his pants, feels a ghost over his shin, his calf, up his thigh. He slaps at it, the sensation already gone, but it tingles where it left. Was that Garak? Was that his hand? But it couldn’t have been a human hand because-

“Garak? Was that you?” Julian asks. “I mean I’m flattered but-”

 _“You underssstand me?”_ Garak asks again and his voice is deeper, but it… doesn’t seem any different than before. Julian turns towards the sound blindly reaching out.

“Of course I understand you but you just can’t go pawing at people and… Garak?” He calls the name again as he feels… skin that’s not skin. It’s scales. It’s a smooth expanse of scales like his mate’s bearded dragon but like-

 _“That feelsssss niccccce,”_ he heards Garak say again and in that nervous habit his fingers are in his mouth again, biting them like this one bloke he went to school with named Jack used to do. He can feel his heart start hammering, and the cool tunnel suddenly feels so very hot. Is it firedamp? If he pulls out the lighter will it cause an explosion? Well not it’s not a coal mine so it- _“Don’t.”_ He hears again, just like when he first entered the tunnel, his lighter in hand. Julian realizes that his hand is still stroking whatever that is and stops. He thinks that he should be terribly afraid right now. _“Don’t turn on the light… if you don’t want to run.”_ His heart skips a beat when he hears those words, and his hand once more strokes the long winding expanse more forcefully, hearing a tssss in return. He _knows_ he should be afraid now as he flicks the top off.

Julian licks his lips, tasting the blood again. He doesn’t understand why he feels so… _hot_. He doesn’t know why he brings his hand to his mouth and tastes more of it. But then he thinks of the bodies, of the bites, of the pools of blood mixed with their saliva and digestive enzymes, and how he’s tasted more and more here and there. _Those who eat the food found in the underworld shall never leave it_. That was one of the myths his mother had read to him from an old story book when he was a child. _“But what if the food is so good you can’t stop yourself, mummy?”_ _What if you can’t stop yourself, Julian? What if it tastes to good that you can’t… help yourself… that you’re always craving more?_

Julian flicks the light on, to the side, the ambient light kicking shadows off the wall and the creature in front of him. Oh, that’s what it was, he realizes distantly. He doesn’t understand why he feels so-

“I’ll run,” He says, standing slowly heart a steady pounding, mouthing at his palm. It really is so very good. “But you won’t catch me.”

“I’ll catch you Julian,” Garak promises drawing up dark, beautiful, undulating and so, so bloody brilliantly. Julian thought the Hunters appeared different than this- smaller, more human in their appearance- but perhaps that was only an illusion. Perhaps they’re shapeshifters? Julian takes a step forward and not back, seeing the sharp spike that had pierced his pant leg earlier. He doesn’t understand why they would hide something so deadly beautiful.

“And what will you do when you catch me?”

“Run, my dear, and you’ll find out.”

Julian smiles.

Julian runs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slightly concerned that Julian and Garak murdering people then fucking is becoming a kink haha


End file.
